


Blind Men and Bleeding Hearts

by novemberhush



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Background info on saints because I seem to have a thing for that, But I couldn't resist throwing in a little info on St. Harvey and St. Michael, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, He just kept popping into my head as I wrote this, I'm not selling this very well am I?, I've been very lax in transferring fics over from tumblr, Is that a proposal Mr. Specter?, Just lots and lots of fluff basically, M/M, Oh and some Shakespeare for some reason, Valentine's Day in July?, Yep sorry about that, i don't know why, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/pseuds/novemberhush
Summary: When Mike shows up at Harvey's door one night not long into the new year, asking for a place to stay following his split with Rachel, the two soon find themselves settling into days of working side by side and nights of living together in domestic harmony. But with the most romantic day of the year fast approaching, will they finally take that last step over the line of friendship and into something more?





	Blind Men and Bleeding Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this was written for Valentine's Day, as I'm sure you guessed, but I'm very lazy and it took me 'til now to transfer it from tumblr to here. It was written for @redamancy-eunoia and the prompt she gave me is in the notes at the end of the fic. I hope you enjoy! :-)

  
When Harvey had let himself think about this (and he _had_ thought about it, it seemed pointless to deny it now), about what his and Mike’s first time together might be like, he had always imagined it would be hungry, desperate, spur of the moment. Ripping each other’s clothes off and devouring each other. Heated, sloppy kisses and rough, groping hands. There may have been a wall involved. Or a desk. He’d always rather liked the idea of having sex in the office. With Mike.

But the reality was something far removed from fantasy, and Harvey found he didn’t mind in the slightest. Reality _far_ outweighed the fantasy. This was how it was always supposed to be, he realised now. It was inevitable. And this was not just sex.

  
They had been tiptoeing round each other for weeks now. Years, really, Harvey supposed, but the tiptoeing had become rather more heavy-handed, if that made any sense, the past few weeks. It felt like they’d been in constant danger of tripping over their own feet and straight into each other’s arms ever since the night, not long into the new year, when Mike had shown up at his door with a suitcase in his hand and a wry smile on his face.

“I broke up with Rachel. Can I stay here for a while? Just until she finds somewhere else to live?” The words rushed out of him, as if he were afraid if he didn’t get them out now then he never would.

Harvey merely cocked an eyebrow at him and said, “Well, hello to you, too. Sure. But don’t you own the apartment? Shouldn’t she be the one turning up at Donna’s door right about now?”

“Yeah, I guess, but it felt a little harsh to be the guy who told her he didn’t want to marry her and threw her out of her home all in the same night.”

“So it was your choice, then? You were the one who ended it?” Harvey heard himself say, the words tumbling out of him much in the way Mike’s had just moments before. It seemed important to know that it had been _Mike_ who called time on the relationship, not Rachel. The distinction mattered.

Mike looked at him then, the way he sometimes looked at him when he’d found something in a file or document Harvey had overlooked and he couldn’t quite believe Harvey had missed it.

“Yeah,” was all he said finally, voice low but somehow fond, or so it seemed, “yeah, I was the one who ended it.”

Harvey felt something settle in him then, easing gently, but unequivocally, into place. It felt suspiciously like his heart. Right then, though, it seemed more important to make sure Mike’s heart was doing okay. And Harvey knew just how to do that.

“Well, I guess the cure’s the same whichever way round it is, be it dumper or dumpee.”

“Yeah?” Mike smirked. “And what’s that, oh Wise One?”

“Scotch, ‘Star Trek’, junk food and work. And luckily for you I can provide all four. But we’ll leave the work for tonight.”

“You’re too kind,” Mike snorted.

“Well, that’s me. St. Harvey, your very own patron saint.”

Mike looked thoughtful then. “Mmm, I guess you are. But the real St. Harvey is the patron saint of musicians.” At Harvey’s once again raised eyebrow, he added by way of explanation, “Perks of an eidetic memory and a Catholic school education.”

Harvey nodded, before a slow grin spread across his face. “There’s a St. Michael, too, isn’t there? What’s he the patron saint of again? No, let me guess … lost causes and bleeding hearts?”

Mike returned the grin with a, “No, St. Jude is your guy for lost causes, and as for bleeding hearts, well, things get a little more complicated there. Let’s just stick with Michael.” He paused a moment. “You really wanna hear this?”

“Humour me,” Harvey replied.

“Okay, you asked for it. But pay attention because I’ll be testing you on this later,” Mike joked back before launching into a brief history of St. Michael.

“St. Michael, and, yes, I was named for him before you ask, is known as ‘the warrior saint’, but he’s technically an angel. Archangel, actually, and leader of all the angels. The patron saint of doctors, soldiers, police officers and firefighters, amongst others. Defender of the church, he also assists souls at the hour of death. An advocate for sinners, champion of the faithful and as commander of God’s army he is the chief opponent of Satan.” Mike did a little flourish with his hand and took a bow, much to Harvey’s amusement.

“A regular do-gooder, then. I might have guessed,” Harvey teased, but he had a feeling his eyes betrayed the fact that he couldn’t think of a more apt namesake for the man before him.

“Hey, while your guy’s off trying to get the latest teenybopper sensation or hair metal band to concentrate on making what can only be laughably referred to as music instead of screwing groupies and taking copious amounts of drugs, my guy’s busy kicking demon ass and fighting the good fight.”

“I hope he’s better with his fists than you, then. Wouldn’t do for the commander of God’s army to get his ass handed to him in a fight. And ‘teenybopper’, Mike? Seriously? And you call me old.”

“You are old, and don’t toy with me, Specter, or I’ll call the full force of God’s army down upon you.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that. You’re my own personal patron saint, too.” He left the _and angel_ unsaid.

“It’s a thankless job, but someone’s gotta do it,” Mike grinned.

Harvey rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Mike quite liked the idea of being Harvey’s personal saving grace. It was written all over his face.

As he went to pour them both a scotch a memory stirred within him and he felt the sudden need to share it with Mike.

“The patron saint of musicians, you said. St. Harvey. I already knew that.”

“You did?” Mike asked, as he accepted the glass Harvey handed him.

“Yeah. You’re not the only one who was named for a saint, you know. I remember when Marcus was born, my mom and dad were trying to come up with a name for him. My mom said it was her turn to choose because my dad got to name me. So I asked him why Harvey. I mean, I was only a kid at the time but even then I knew how important music was to him and I thought he might’ve been tempted to name me after one of the musicians he loved. Like Miles Davis or John Coltrane or Charles Mingus.”

“Or Thelonius Monk. I think you’d make a good Thelonius,” Mike chipped in, grinning in a way Harvey couldn’t resist smiling back at. “But definitely not a monk.”

“You’re a funny guy, Mike. Maybe you should pray to the patron saint of comedians? See if he can help you with your material. Now, shut up and let me finish my story. Anyway, he told me he chose Harvey because he was the patron saint of musicians, and given that my dad was a musician…”

“… it seemed like the natural choice,” Mike finished.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine you called anything else now.” Mike had that thoughtful look on his face again.

“Not even Thelonius?”

“No, not even that.”

“Well, you know what they say, Mike.” Mike’s raised eyebrow indicated that he didn’t.

Harvey huffed a laugh. “Well, forgive me if I get this wrong, not having an eidetic memory and all, but I think the Bard said something about, _That which we call a rose/ By any other_ _name would smell as sweet_. Or something like that.” He felt embarrassed then, quoting Shakespeare to Mike, and ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at that.

Mike, though, just smiled softly at him. “No, not something like that. Exactly that. Word perfect. I’m impressed. Of course, St. Harvey is also the patron saint of bards, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“He is?” Harvey hadn’t known that.

“Yep.”

“Huh. A man of many talents then, just like myself.”

Mike snorted. “Yeah, just a shame modesty isn’t one of them.”

“I seem to remember someone else once said something about modesty being the art of letting other people find out for themselves how good you are. I’ve always preferred to save them time and tell them upfront.”

Mike laughed again and Harvey felt warm and content and the rest of the night passed in a happy blur of scotch and pizza and the adventures of the USS Enterprise and her crew. But tiredness eventually crept up on them both. Harvey fetched blankets and pillows and, brushing off Mike’s protests that he could do it himself, proceeded to make up a makeshift bed on the couch, sending Mike off to the bathroom. He had to fight back the urge to offer to share his own bed with Mike.

When Mike returned, all minty fresh breath, ruffled hair and soft cotton sleep clothes, Harvey felt all his own breath leave him. He’d seen Mike like this before of course, when he’d stayed with Harvey in the aftermath of the Logan Sanders betrayal (and, yes, Harvey thought of it as a betrayal and not just some easily forgotten, or forgiven, slip), and it had affected him then, too. Seeing Mike like this, relaxed, comfortable and ready for bed, in _his_ condo. But now, his heart (and other parts) ached even more at the sight, his love, and he knew that’s what it was now, being the sort that only deepened with time, rather than waned.

He stood there, frozen to the spot, as Mike settled himself on the couch, yawning mightily before burrowing into the nest of blankets and pillows.

Harvey wasn’t sure how long he stood there looking down at Mike, but he suspected it was too long for someone supposed to feel only friendship for the man currently cocooned on his couch in his Egyptian cotton bed linen with the ridiculously high thread count.

It was Mike’s voice that finally snapped him out of it.

“Harvey, you’re staring.”

“Hmm. What? Am I? Oh. Sorry,” he stammered, before getting a grip on himself. “Well, I guess I’ve never seen a human burrito before,” he joked lamely, gesturing at the way Mike had seemed to swaddle himself in the blankets.

 _Smooth, Specter_ , he rebuked himself, embarrassed at his weak attempt at humour to deflect from the fact that it had been Mike he’d been staring at, pure and simple.

“Um … so, goodnight then?” Mike said, making the statement sound more like a question.

Harvey gave himself a mental shake and abruptly moved off towards his own room with a hasty, “Goodnight, Mike”, thrown over his shoulder. He had just reached his bedroom door when he heard Mike’s voice again, quiet in the still of the condo, and with a tone Harvey could only describe as ‘wistful’.

“Harvey?”

“Yeah?”

“St. Harvey is also the patron saint of the blind.”

And Harvey didn’t know what to say to that. So he just lingered at his door a moment before murmuring goodnight again and disappearing into his room.

Mike’s words followed him, though, and he tossed and turned all night, pondering the meaning behind them and Mike’s reason for saying them. He had a feeling he knew what it was all about, but if he was wrong he would ruin everything with Mike and lose him for good. And if there was one thing Harvey was sure of it was that he couldn’t stand for that to happen.

And so it had went for weeks. Days spent working alongside each other, leading into evenings where they made their way home together, leading to nights on the couch, side by side.

Sometimes a record played in the background or the TV was on or there were papers spread before them as they worked on a case.

Some nights there was take-out and some nights they worked beside each other in the kitchen, preparing dinner together, finding they both liked to cook when dinner would be shared with the other.

Some nights there were quiet discussions of times past, secrets confided, memories shared, all so much easier than Harvey had ever found they could be before.

Other nights no words were necessary and they just sat together, listening to music or reading. Or just looking at each other. Neither of them ever spoke about it. What was there to say? Harvey, for his part, couldn’t get enough of looking at Mike. Drinking his fill, and still coming up thirsty.

And yet neither had made a move towards the other. Each afraid perhaps of upsetting the gentle equilibrium that had settled between them. Afraid of shattering something so precious and never being able to put it back together again.

Until now. Until tonight.

It had happened quite by accident. Neither of them had planned it. Or so Harvey thought, anyway. He’d have to remember to ask Mike later if he had planned it. Had planned to fall asleep like that, gently tilting sideways in his seat until his head had ended up on Harvey’s shoulder, and the warm, welcome weight of it had pulled Harvey down into sleep too. Until they had both finally awakened, curled into each other and Mike had lifted his head to look up at Harvey and Harvey had lowered his to look at Mike, and they had found their lips so close to touching that it seemed ridiculous _not_ to just close that tiny gap. That tiny, final, infinitesimal distance between them that was unthinkable now they had finally closed it. No, Harvey didn’t think Mike had planned it, but he was glad God, the angels, patron saints, the universe or sheer dumb luck had.

And it wasn’t anything like Harvey had imagined their first time together to be. It wasn’t the all-consuming white heat of lust that fuelled their lovemaking tonight (although he felt sure there would be other nights ahead of them for that). No, tonight was the steady, gentle burn of a passion ignited into life years ago, but carefully, deliberately, wilfully ignored until it had flared into a flame so warm and incandescent it could no longer go unacknowledged.

Harvey couldn’t remember why he’d tried to fight it in the first place. Fear, probably. Fear that giving into this fire, this love, _Mike_ , wouldn’t just burn him, but would leave him unrecognisable, even to himself. Now, though, he knew he would come out of this conflagration the stronger for it. Forged in fire, as it were. Not that he ever intended walking out on this fire. Not now he’d finally succumbed to it and found what he’d wanted all along, just waiting for him there to open his eyes and see. Mike, waiting patiently for him to catch up.

Mike, who seemed to be the blind one now by the way he slowly trailed his fingertips over Harvey as if he were a book written in Braille. A holy book. A book Mike with his eidetic memory needed to read and commit to that memory. Mike who left scorch marks on Harvey’s body in the wake of those tender, trailing fingertips and then treated them with the salve of his lips, kisses following that trail of touches. The air so still around them, their breaths and gasps and hushed, reverent whispers the only sounds in the dimly-lit bedroom.

Harvey hears the Bard’s words again, more ‘Romeo and Juliet’, _And palm to palm, is holy palmers’ kiss_ , as his hand finds Mike’s at the moment of joining and their palms press together for a moment. A visual representation of their souls doing the same, before they find the gaps between and lock together, fingers and souls intertwining as bodies merge into one.

Time seems to stop and yet Harvey knows this night will be over all too soon. But there will be other nights. A lifetime of them, he is sure. St. Jude isn’t needed now. No lost causes here.

Harvey has never felt more cherished, more loved or more known that he does tonight, lying in bed with Mike in his arms, basking in the afterglow of something he’s never known the like of before. He’s never had so complete a feeling of knowing he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. That they’re _both_ where they’re supposed to be.

Mike breaks the silence first, of course.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not blind anymore.”

“Actually, I think I might’ve went a little blind there when I cam…” Harvey starts to joke, before Mike issues a gentle slap to his chest to shut him up, and buries his face shyly against Harvey’s shoulder.

“It’s a bit late to go all shy on me now, kid.” Harvey can’t resist teasing even as he feels himself fall a little deeper in love, charmed as he is by the blush he can see blooming like roses on Mike’s cheeks.

“You make me shy,” Mike mumbles into his neck. “And you make me bold,” he adds, his hand once again trailing down Harvey’s torso to dip beneath the sheet covering them and do a little teasing of his own.

“Mmm, so I see,” is all Harvey can get out before turning his head to once again seek out Mike’s lips.

It’s a while before they settle comfortably against each other again, but when they do a fragment of some half-remembered hymn floats to the surface of Harvey’s mind and he can’t help grinning.

“ _I once was blind, but now I see_. You’re a good Catholic boy, Mike, isn’t that how the song goes?”

“I don’t know, are you saying I’m the amazing grace that saved a wretch like you?”

“Your Father Walker would probably say it’s blasphemy, but, yeah, Mike, that’s what I’m saying.”

Harvey is not expecting the bellowing laughter that suddenly erupts out of his bed partner. For one awful moment it occurs to him that perhaps he has read too much into this night, that perhaps Mike doesn’t feel the same way about it as Harvey. Doesn’t feel the same way about _Harvey_ as Harvey does Mike. It must show on his face because as quickly as it began the laughter subsides and Mike rushes to reassure him, taking Harvey’s face between his hands and kissing him with a fire so intense Harvey is surprised it doesn’t set off his smoke detector.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Mike whispers, voice fervent and eyes determined when he ends the kiss. “I’m not laughing at what you said. I’m not laughing at you. It was only that I just realised it’s after midnight and it hit me what day it is, that’s all.”

Harvey’s brain tries to make sense of what Mike means, but right now it’s still swimming in a sea of pheromones and possibilities, and the best he can come up with is a confused, “Tuesday?”

Mike snorts and fixes him with that look that says he’s missed something again. “No, you idiot. Wow, if this is what sex does to your brain remind me not to sleep with you before any important meetings or court cases. Not the _day_ , Harvey. The _date_. What date is it?”

Harvey’s brain is now stuck on the fact that Mike has basically confirmed that there will be more nights like this, so later he will figure he can be forgiven for being a little slow on the uptake with this one.

“The date? Umm, let me see, Monday was the 13th and this is now Tuesday so that would make it February…” his voice trails off as it hits him exactly what Mike is trying to get across to him. “February 14th. Valentine’s Day.”

“ _Saint_ Valentine’s Day,” Mike corrects him, emphasising the ‘saint’.

“So, do you think this means we have his blessing, then? The patron saint of lovers has blessed our union?” Harvey enquires, eyes twinkling and heart giddy with joy.

“I think that’s exactly what it means,” Mike replies, somewhat giddy himself, as Harvey pulls him in for another kiss.

“Why did we have to do this in New York and not Vegas?” Harvey asks cryptically when they come up for air again. A raised eyebrow from Mike is all that’s necessary for him to explain his seemingly random question.

“Because if we were in Vegas I could be dragging you out to find the nearest wedding chapel right about now.”

“Oh?” Mike smiles, eyebrow quirked again. “What? Sort of a ‘I thought it was a one-night-stand and now we’re married’ type of thing? Is that what you mean?”

“No, Mike, this was never gonna be just a one time thing. At least, not for me. Maybe that’s why I fought it so hard for so long. Closed my eyes and pretended I was blind to the possibility of us. Because I knew there’d never be anyone for me again after you, and that scared me. Because if I had you for my own, even for one night, and you left me, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You’re never gonna find out ‘cos that’s never gonna happen,” Mike murmurs, rubbing his nose along Harvey’s jaw. “I’m never leaving you. Not now, not ever.”

“Good, because if you did I’d just pray to St. Anthony and he’d track you down and bring you back to me in no time,” Harvey responds, turning his face to Mike’s again and catching the quizzical look there before that Catholic school education reasserts itself.

“St. Anthony?” Mike frowns adorably and Harvey chuckles at how far gone he is for this man that not only does he think his frown is adorable, but he actually used the word 'adorable', even if only inwardly. Then that eidetic memory kicks in and the frown turns upside down, in a way that would make Pollyannas everywhere gleeful. “The patron saint of lost items. Right?”

“Right,” Harvey answers, not sure where he himself had gleaned that little scrap of knowledge. Not in Catholic school, anyway. But it doesn’t much matter. His thoughts have already turned in another direction. Back to one he had been contemplating a few minutes ago. To one he’s been contemplating from the moment Mike’s lips first met his. And probably long before that, if he is being honest.

“You got any plans for this weekend, Mike?”

“Besides ravishing you?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

“No. Why? What’ve you got in mind?”

“Wanna take a trip to Vegas with me?”

An armful of naked Mike, pressing himself flush against Harvey, and peppering his face with kisses from those lips of his (those _two blushing pilgrims_ , as the Bard would say) between smiles and muttered _yeses_ , is just the answer he was hoping for

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so if you've made it this far then you might like to know that the prompt was, "I thought it was a one-night-stand and now we're married." If you'd like to come say hi, then please do so, either here in the comments section or over on tumblr where I'm also known as novemberhush. Thanks for reading. xxx


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